CHAPTER VIII
THE BLACKSMITH
I had come up gasping for breath, well out in the stream, either shore amere darker shadow showing above the water. How far I had been sweptbelow the barge could not be guessed, as I could distinguish no outlinesclearly, excepting the bare spars of a vessel, tied up to the west shore.As this ship had not been in sight previously I concluded the drift hadbeen greater than anticipated, and I struck out quickly toward theopposite bank, fearful lest I be borne down as far as Gloucester before Icould finally make land. It was a hard swim across the swift current, andI was nearly exhausted when I finally crept up the low bank, and laydripping and panting in the shelter of some low bushes. Except for thebark of a distant dog there was no sound more disturbing than the rustleof leaves, and the lapping of water. As my breath came back I sat up,wrung out my clothes as best I could, and, with difficulty, drew on theboots I had borne across, slung to my shoulder.
I possessed but a dim conception of where I was, yet knew I must make awide detour to the east so as to escape British foraging parties. Therewas nothing to guide me except the stars, no sign of any habitation, norcultivated field; not even a fence. I shivered in the night air, and wentstumbling forward over the rough ground, until I came upon a road runningnorth and south. I had no desire to proceed in either of thesedirections, but the walking was so much better that I turned to the left,hoping to find a trend eastward, as I knew the river swerved in thatdirection. My reward was the discovery of a crossroad, a mere wagontrack, into which I gladly turned, and plodded along steadily. The stiffexercise, combined with the heat of my body--for I was walking now asrapidly as the darkness would permit--dried my clothes, yet with everystep onward, I became more apprehensive of danger. I was unarmed, mysword sunk in the Delaware, my pistol useless from wet powder; unless Ifound concealment before daybreak I would doubtless fall into the handsof some roving band, and be summarily dealt with. If loyalists, I wascertain to be returned to Philadelphia a prisoner; if Colonial then Iwould find it hard to explain the uniform I wore. In either case therewould be no gentleness in handling me.
I must have thus plodded doggedly along through the darkness for fullyfive miles, without perceiving the first sign of habitation, or even awood into which I could crawl for concealment, when I suddenly came upona long, one-story stone building standing at the left of the road, agrim, silent, apparently deserted structure, one end of the roof cavedin, and several of the windows smashed. The appearance of desolation wasso complete as to make the flesh crawl, and in the distance an owl hooteddismally. I tried the doors, but they appeared firmly fastened. Far inthe east there was a faint lightening of the sky promising the approachof dawn, and thus aroused to a knowledge that I must immediately attainshelter, I clambered through one of the broken windows, and dropped tothe earthen floor within. I could see nothing, not even a hand heldbefore my eyes, yet carefully felt my way forward through a tangle ofrubbish, wheels, scraps of iron, some casks, a number of plough handles,and a riffraff of stuff I could not make out. The place had evidentlybeen used as a repair shop, but must have been closed for months, as Icould feel the grit of dust everywhere, and cobwebs brushed against myface as I moved about. Finally I felt the outlines of a large box halffilled with paper, and, for want of something better, crept in andsnuggled down, intending to rest there until daylight should reveal mysurroundings.
I was warm enough, now, my clothing practically dry, but thoroughly tiredfrom the long tramp over the dark road, and exhausted by the excitementthrough which I had passed. Even my mind seemed dulled, and it appeareduseless to think or plan. All night long I had been the helpless victimof circumstances, and I could only trust blindly to luck for the future.I recall lying there, staring up into the darkness, listening to thesqueal of a rat in some distant corner, the memory of the past few hoursrioting through my brain in bewildered confusion. I had not intended tosleep, yet drowsiness came, and I lost consciousness.
I know not what aroused me, but it was already daylight, a gleam of sunthrough the windows turning the festooned cobwebs into golden tapestry.One side of the box in which I lay had been broken out, and I could seethe full length of the shop, which appeared littered from end to end withall manner of implements of husbandry, and woodworking and blacksmith'stools. It was a jumble of odds and ends, scraps of wood and iron,discarded parts of machinery, an old forge, bits of harness, and a brokensaddletree. All this I perceived with my first glance, but it was thedistant sound of a voice which as instantly held my attention. At first Icould not locate the speaker, nor comprehend the peculiar singsong of theutterance. But as I lifted my head, listening intently, I knew the man tobe beyond the wooden partition at my right, and that he was prayingfervently. Somehow heartened by this discovery I crept out from the bedof papers, and stole silently forward to the narrow door which apparentlyled into this second apartment. The voice never ceased in its monotonousappeal, and I ventured to lift the latch, and take cautious glancethrough the slight opening.
It was a blacksmith shop of fair size, fully equipped with all the toolsof the trade, the walls blackened by smoke, the earthen floor litteredwith _debris_, a leathern apron hanging over the anvil. A curtain drawnaside formed a smaller, separate apartment, with puncheon floor, lightedby a small window through which a gleam of sun fell. I caught thereinglimpse of a bunk full of disarranged blankets, a straight-back chair,and a small table, with a few books lying upon it. Yet all this was butthe result of a glance, as my whole attention concentrated upon akneeling figure just beneath the loop of the curtain. The man was facingme, but with eyes closed, and uplifted, as his lips poured forth thefervent words of prayer. I was not a religious man in those days, yet thefaith of my mother was not forgotten, and there was something ofsincerity about that solitary kneeling figure I could not but respect.The words uttered, the deep resonant voice, and above all, the expressionof that upturned face, held me silent, motionless. He was a man of short,sturdy limb, but great bulk, massive chest, and immense shouldersevidencing remarkable strength. His face was rugged, the jaws square, thechin pronounced, the brow broad, rather than high, with nose like thebeak of a hawk. His thick hair, iron-gray, was a bushy mat. His onlyclothing consisted of leathern breeches, well worn but clean, and a roughshirt, open at the throat, and sleeveless. This revealed a brawny chest,and arms knotted with muscle.
But it was the man's voice, deep, resonant, vibrant with feeling, whichfascinated me, while the words spoken seemed to yield me a new conceptionof prayer, so simple were they, so clearly a true utterance of the heart.Believing himself alone with his Maker, there was a depth of sincerity inthe tone which hushed all shallow criticism. Rare Christian faith,unreserved surrender, absolute confidence spoke through every syllable,and I stood there, almost breathless, listening, feeling that this washoly ground. What was this man, this praying blacksmith? A patriotsurely, from his words of petition; one who had suffered much, but waswilling to suffer more. The strength chiselled in that upturned face,those deeply marked features, revealed no common mental equipment. Herewas a real man, with convictions, one who would die for an ideal; withoutdoubt a radical, ready to go to any extreme where conscience blazed theway.
I cannot attempt to reproduce from memory those words of petition whichcame slowly from his lips, as though the man was himself awed by thepresence of the Infinite. There was no stumbling, no hesitancy, but thesolemnly devout language of the Bible seemed to flow naturally forth, asthough the man's mind was steeped with the imagery of that Oriental past,the present struggle in which he was engaged but a reflection of oldJewish wars in which Jehovah led the chosen hosts to victory. As hefinally paused, his head bowed low, I stepped forward into the light,confident of welcome, utterly forgetful of the uniform I wore. At thefirst faint sound of my approach on the floor he was upon his feetfronting me, the shortness of his limbs yielding him a certain grotesqueappearance, his deep-set eyes regarding me suspiciously. Before I couldrealize the man's intent he sprang between me and the oute
r door, hishand gripping an iron bar.
"A son of Baal!" came the roar from his lips. "How came you here in thatuniform? Are you alone?"
"Alone, yes," and I hurled the scarlet jacket into the dirt with agesture of disgust. "I had even forgotten I wore it. Wait a moment. Iheard your prayer, and know you must be with us. I am Major Lawrence ofthe Maryland Line."
He stared at me motionless.
"Then how come ye here?"
"I was sent into Philadelphia by Washington himself, but my identity wasdiscovered, and there was no way of escape except across the Delaware. Ireached here during the night, and crept into your shop to hide. Thesound of your voice awoke me from sleep, and I knew from your words thatit was safe for me to come forth."
"You may know it, young man, but I don't," he replied gruffly. "We're abit suspicious of strangers here in the Jerseys these days. The minionsof Satan encompass us about. What have ye to show to prove your story?"
I shook my head, extending my hands.
"Only my word of honor. I had a pass from Hamilton, but destroyed thatbefore entering the British lines. If I tell you the whole story, perhapsyou will understand its truth."
The expression of his face did not change, yet I thought the deep-seteyes were not altogether unkind.
"You are hungry, no doubt?"
"Being human, yes."
"Then we'll eat and talk at the same time. You're only one man, an' I'mnot afraid of you, an' if ye are a Britisher I wouldn't starve you todeath. There's little enough, the good Lord knows, but you're welcome tothe half of it. Make yourself comfortable there on the bench."
I did as he suggested, impressed by the rugged directness of the fellow,convinced he already half believed my brief explanation. He steppedoutside into the sunlight searching the road that led away across theflat distance; returning he indulged in a single glance into the desertedshop where I had passed the night. Apparently satisfied that I was indeedalone, he threw open a cupboard in one corner, and brought forth avariety of food, placing this upon a wide shelf near at hand.Occasionally our eyes met, and I knew he was slowly making up his mindregarding me. This silent scrutiny could not have been altogetherunsatisfactory, for, when he finally drew up an empty box and sat down,he was prepared to talk.
"Help yourself," he began gravely. "It is rough camp fare, but doubtlessyou are used to that. Do you know me?"
I scanned his face again intently, surprised by the question, yetrecognized no familiar features.
"No," I replied, with some hesitation. "Have we ever met before?"
"Not to my remembrance," and the man's language and accent evidencededucation above his apparent station. "But I have won some repute in thispart of the Jerseys, an' thought my name might be known to you. You wouldrecognize the signature of George Washington?"
"I have seen it often."
He drew a flat leather case from a pocket inside his shirt, extractingtherefrom a folded paper, which he opened, and extended to me across thetable. With a glance I mastered the few lines written thereon,recognizing its genuineness.
"Hamilton penned that," I said in quick surprise, "and it is signed byWashington's own hand."
The deep-set eyes twinkled.
"Right," he said shortly, "that bit of paper may save me from hangin'some day. There are those who would like well to see me swing if theyonly laid hands on me at the right time and place. You know what thepaper is?"
"A commission as Captain," and I bent over it again, "issued to DanielFarrell, giving him independent command of scouts--by heavens! are you'Bull' Farrell?"
He was eating quietly, but found time to answer.
"There are those who call me by that nickname; others give me even aworse handle. 'Tis my nature to make enemies faster than friends. Youknow me then?"
"I was with Maxwell at Germantown," the remembrance of the scene comingvividly to mind, "when you came up with your ragged fellows. You havecertainly taught them how to fight."
"There was no teaching necessary; all the trouble I ever have is inholding them back," his face darkening. "Every man who rides with meknows what war means here in the Jerseys; they have seen their homes inflames, their women and children driven out by Hessian hirelings. Wefight for life as well as liberty, and when we strike we strike hard. Butenough of that. We have sufficient confidence in each other by now totalk freely. What did you discover in Philadelphia? No more than I couldtell you myself, I'll warrant."
I told the story, while he listened silently, his eyes alone expressinginterest. As I ended, he slowly lit his pipe, and sat there smoking,apparently thinking over what I had said.
"Have I learned anything of importance?" I asked finally.
"For Washington, yes; but very little unknown to me. So you met MistressClaire, eh? The little minx! 'Tis a month since I heard of her."
My Lady of Doubt Page 8
